"To be gorgeous, you must first be seen, but to be seen allows you to be hunted." - Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous.

Growing is hard. Putting yourself out into the world often requires you to act as though you already know the answers, as though you are certain and capable and unshaken. This year taught me that growth doesn’t always come from winning. Sometimes it comes from losing things you were certain about: people, outcomes, futures you had already rehearsed in your head.

For a long time, I measured myself through responsibility. I took pride in being dependable, steady, present. I believed deeply that if I showed up fully for the people and paths I cared about, things would work out. And when they didn’t, my instinct was always to turn inward and ask what I could have done better.

This year tested that belief, over again and again.

I realized that I spent much of it moving forward without clear reflection. At times, it felt like I was moving too fast. It was almost too quick to recognize what I was learning, yet too slow to satisfy the constant pressure to succeed. It was disorienting to give so much energy and still feel unsure of where I stood, as if effort and clarity had fallen out of sync.

At the same time, something personal unraveled. I saw it coming long before it arrived, and still chose to ignore it, because it made me feel whole. What I didn’t realize was that the feeling wasn’t shared. Carrying that loss was heavy in a particular way, not because of what happened, but because I decided to build my future around it. And when it all came down, I am left with nothing but devastation and inability to accept.

And yet, life didn’t pause.

The days continued. I kept showing up not out of confidence, but out of responsibility. Out of a quiet desire to still be seen, even knowing what visibility can cost. Somewhere inside that repetition, I noticed something unexpected: I was still standing, even when certainty had left.

In that space, my understanding of myself began to shift.

I’ve always underestimated my own capacity. I thought my worth lived in being useful, in being reliable, in holding things together for others. This year taught me that I am more than the outcomes attached to my effort. I am not defined by what works out, what doesn’t, or how quickly clarity arrives. I’m learning to sit with discomfort without rushing to resolve it. To let unanswered questions exist. To accept that not every ending needs an explanation, and that understanding often arrives later (quietly) once you stop demanding it.

This year showed me that I can carry disappointment without letting it harden me. That I can keep moving even when things don’t resolve the way I hoped. That the qualities I relied on to build something meaningful don’t disappear just because the outcome changed.

And perhaps the most important realization of all:

I don’t need constant validation to justify my strength. I don’t need everything to work out in order to trust that I am moving in the right direction. The quiet persistence, the reflection, the ability to continue with integrity when things are uncertain. That is enough. Even when I doubted myself the most, something was still forming beneath the surface.

I am capable of so much more.